Ricochet Part III
by dinkydow
Summary: Jack meets up with an old ememy and is not a happy camper.


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Title: Ricochet Part III

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Author: dinkydow

Email: jd3031socket.net

Category: Series; sequel to Ricochet Part II

Rating: R

Spoilers: Takes place in Season 8.

Warnings: Jack whumping and language. What can I say? Jack is so not a happy camper.

Summary: Jack meets up with an old enemy.

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own any of them. Couldn't afford to if I did and don't have a mountain to hide them in. Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions do. I wrote this for entertainment and won't be making any money for it. (Heavy sigh).

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Alice and Jerry for their suggestions and for being my betas for this thing. Although I have received many requests to adopt Ernie, the little gray alien says he's having way too much fun here to want to leave. However, if you want to borrow him for a bit, just let me know ahead of time. Yes, I love to hear feedback!

Light slowly filtered through Jack O'Neill's closed eyelids. According to his fuzzy brain, that somehow didn't seem right. 'Light? What the hell?' In an effort to put the pieces of the puzzle together, he frantically sifted through his most recent memories. Gradually, disjointed images started trickling back. SG-13 on their knees in front of Ba'al's First Prime. That image connected with the soul-chilling sight of glowing eyes in a darkened room and words that could have been uttered by only one person. 'Scratch that…make that…only one Snake. Ba'al. Crap,' he thought wearily. Vaguely, he could remember visiting Colonel Dixon in the Infirmary and being zatted by someone. But after that, the images got pretty hazy and indistinct. It was pretty hard to forget the glowing eyes though…and the zat…and it being aimed at him a second time.

'Crap. This is so not a good thing, Jack O'Neill,' he thought to himself. 'You know what it means when you've been shot twice by a zat gun. You wind up very dead. As in meeting the grim reaper, pushing up daisies, six feet under, tango uniform, and kicking the bucket. But, throw Ba'al into the mix, and you are in very, very deep kimchee, because that sadistic, bottom feeding, god-wannabe Snake has this nasty habit of killing your ass and then dumping your carcass into the nearest sarcophagus. That certainly explains the light. Thought it looked familiar,' he groused to himself. 'God knows I've seen it enough times. Pun intended.'

Cautiously, he opened his eyes to a slit and saw the all too familiar white-lit walls of the rectangular box he was lying in. Absently he noted that his feet were bare, and he'd been stripped down to just his black t-shirt and combat fatigue pants. Belt was gone too, but given his current crappy circumstances, he supposed that really wasn't too surprising. Hey, least he wasn't stark raving nekked. There was something very disconcerting and unnerving about waking up alone in a strange place without a stitch of clothing on and no memory of why your duds went bye-bye and how you got wherever the hell you were.

"Crap," he muttered. A scraping sound above his head alerted him to the fact that the sarcophagus was opening. As the leaves slowly parted, he squinted to catch the first sight of who or what was awaiting him on the other side. He stopped himself from giggling when he caught his inadvertent pun. 'Other side. Yeah, Jack. Only this time the other side is so not where you are right now…unless this qualifies as hell,' he thought cynically. 'Then again…' Against the bright overhead lights of wherever the hell he was, Jack could make out the dark outline of someone bending over him and then withdrawing.

"The Tau'ri, lives, my Lord."

"Ya think?" he muttered to himself.

Still feeling too weak to do anything more than just lie there, he waited for what he knew was coming next. After all, he'd ridden this demented merry-go-round before. A whole honkin' shitload of times before. Sure enough, a pair of burly, hairy arms reached in and grabbed him around his arms, lifting him out of the box of cheated-death. Resting most of his weight on the pair of goons holding him up, he took his first look around his new home.

The two 'look-at-my-big-muscles' clichés serving as his current escorts were no surprise, they looked like the typical 'all brawn with no brains' Jaffa used by the System Lords. Then, someone moved into his field of vision. The shock of seeing a familiar face dressed in BDU's gave him a momentary flash of hope…until he saw the eyes flash white.

"Dave Dixon?" he gasped in disbelief. The low evil chuckle he heard in return removed all lingering doubt of the identity of the man standing in front of him from his mind.

"No, foolish Tau'ri! It is I, Ba'al, your new Master. Nothing of the host remains," boomed the low voice that had once belonged to his friend and co-worker.

"And a sucky good morning to you too, Fuzz Ba'al" Jack muttered, more for his own benefit than for any other reason. "Could you just cut out the clichés for now? I haven't had my coffee yet. You of all people should know that I don't do clichés well without a pot-full of coffee."

His mind still felt so fuzzy, probably the after-effects of being zatted dead and then revived by the sarcophagus. 'Go figure,' he thought to himself. The one thing he knew for sure was that the leering face that was standing in front of him was not the proud, but ever-suffering father of four who had fought by his side on more than one occasion.

"Take him to his cell. I have much to prepare. Kree!" ordered Ba'al before striding purposefully out of the room.

"Hey, Gum Ba'al, I take my coffee with cream, no sugar," Jack called after him. When he didn't get any reaction from his hulking companions, he cocked one eyebrow at them. "What? Too much?"

The current versions of Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber escorted him forcefully out the same door, but turned off in a different direction, so he didn't have a chance to see where Ba'al took off to. Out of force of habit, more than anything else, Jack automatically tried to take inventory of his surroundings. However, he found it was hard to do since he was still having trouble holding his head up, and his keeping his thoughts together, and on track. Another side effect of the sarcophagus, he supposed muzzily.

He was led and half-dragged off down a series of corridors that felt damp and cold. When he took the time to lift his head and look around him, the rough stone walls confirmed his suspicion that he was underground somewhere. It wasn't too long before they stopped in front of a hole in the wall, deactivated a force field and shoved him inside. Even after they'd reactivated it, only one took off, leaving the remaining one to continue guarding him.

"Guess you don't want me wandering off," he said with bemusement. "Well, ain't I special?"

"Ah, home sweet cell," he muttered to himself as he took in his surroundings. "Speaking of clichés…"

The walls were done in a basic early cave style, with an emphasis on Neanderthal. It had the usual amenities, hot and cold running guard, depending on how badly you pissed him off, and the bucket in the corner just in case they kept you around long enough to need it. 'At least they didn't chain me to the wall this time,' he thought morosely.

'Wonder how long I'll have to wait until his High Snakiness is ready to see me?' he mused as he sank down to the floor of his cell and drew his legs up so he could rest his head on his knees. His head still felt foggy, and he hoped he'd be given enough time to recover his equilibrium from this latest fiasco. He didn't hold out a whole lot of hope for that happening, though. Not with Ba'al calling the shots.

"Why the hell can't that Snake just stay dead?" he grumbled loudly to the guard. "Is that too much to ask? I mean, wouldn't you have the good taste to stay dead if I killed your ass?" The guard glared at him in response. "Oh, bad example. Never mind."

His comments only served to annoy the guard, who turned to glower menacingly at him again. However, the force field stayed up, quashing the brief hope that he might somehow overpower the single guard and make his escape.

"Should've known it wouldn't be that easy," he muttered to himself as he scrubbed his face with both hands. Feeling a little more clear-headed, he pushed himself up and paced off the length of the cell. Give or take, it was roughly fifteen paces by ten. Not really useful information, but it occupied his time and gave him a way to release the tension and anxiety he could feel building within him.

"Hey you…guard. Do ya think you could send out for a couple of movies? Gettin' kind of boring in here. If you know what I mean?" Still no response from the peanut gallery of one. "It doesn't have to be a good one. I'd even settle for 'Wormhole Extreme' reruns. No? Damn, but you're a tough crowd."

Forcing himself to sink down once more to the floor, he made an attempt to figure out his options. He had no way of knowing how much time had elapsed since he'd been snatched from Stargate Command, but chances were good that they knew he was missing by now. As for the likelihood of being rescued by someone from the SGC, he knew they were exceedingly slim. For one thing, they had no way of knowing where he'd been taken because Jacob had said that the Tok'ra hadn't been able to locate Ba'al's hidden base yet. That left it all up to his little gray buddy, Thor.

From past experience, he knew the Asgard had a way of locating him and keeping track of his welfare. They had to have been alerted when Ba'al a la Dixon had zatted him and dragged his ass out of the SGC. He couldn't help but wonder just how the Snake had managed to pull it off and resolved to add that little bit of Intel to the training regimen for his security staff. Providing he made it back, that is. 'Thor? Now would be a good time to beam my ass out of here,' he ordered hopefully as he looked up towards the ceiling. 'Nope, didn't happen, Jack. You're still stuck here waiting for ole what's his butt to drag you out of here. Note to self: never ever believe that a Snake is dead until you yourself zat his scum-sucking ass out of existence.'

His inner dialogue was interrupted by the clanking sound of marching Jaffa that echoed eerily off the cave walls. As they drew nearer, he stood up to await them. No sense in giving them an excuse to jerk his shoulders out of their sockets. Besides, he had a sinking feeling that there would be plenty of opportunity for that sort of thing…later. The number of Jaffa present impressed him. The Snake had sent ten of them as his escort.

"Howdy, guys, didn't realize you cared so much," Jack said with a smirk. "Did ya bring that movie I ordered? No? Pity, I would've let you watch too, ya know."

For once, they didn't reply to his jibes, merely shut off the force field and crowded into the cell. O'Neill didn't bother putting up a fight as he knew the odds were so not in his favor. With one guard holding him by each arm, they marched him back down the hallway. From what he could tell, they were taking him back the same way they'd come before. Well, it wasn't as if he didn't know who was waiting for him.

"Tell you what, guys. What say we skip the 'bow before your god gig' and blow this Popsicle stand? Go out for a couple of brewskis, watch a little hockey. It'd be fun," commented Jack with a half grin. His escorts totally ignored him, which was probably a better reaction than their usual one. Which was to beat the holy crap out of him.

"Oh well, it's probably just as well," he grumbled. "I have the feeling that the beer sucks in this joint and you probably don't get cable anyway."

He spent the rest of his short walk mentally preparing himself for his upcoming meeting with one of the most sadistic Snakes that he'd ever had the misfortune to come across. Trouble was, the damn bastard wouldn't leave him alone. He just kept ricocheting back into his life like some crazed energizer bunny on a bungee cord that kept beating the crap out of him with his little stick with every bounce. Note to self: when you get home, buy one of those bunnies, and blow the little sucker up. Nothing that cute should be allowed to live.

Rounding a corner, he was brought into a room that was new to him. From the looks of it, this would definitely not be on his list of favorite places to visit. Two sets of shackles were set into the far wall, one for the hands, and another for the feet, he supposed. The décor of the rest of the room wasn't much better. One entire wall held nothing but a collection of various implements of torture, all neatly arranged, and set on hooks for easy access. Kind of like a Wally World one-stop shopping center for the discriminating sado-masochist. He recognized several of them from his previous experiences with this particular Goa'uld and his twisted version of Romper Room. The only good thing about the room was that it didn't have one of those huge honkin' altars sitting in it.   
  
"Well, this room sucks. Don't you guys have any imagination when it comes to decorating? If you ask nicely, I could give you the number of someone who's really good at this sort of thing," he said with a lazy smirk on his face. When they didn't react to his jibes, he acted disappointed and pouted. "What's the matter? Snake got your tongue?"

He didn't see Foul Ba'al in the room, but figured it wouldn't be long before he showed up. Sitting on a dais was a backless throne-type affair with wide arms, all set up and waiting for the resident Head Snake to plop his slimy ass on it. The lighting was done in typical early dark ages style complete with flickering torches. He'd never been able to figure out why the Snakes never went with more modern lighting arrangements. It wasn't as if they didn't have the technology. Even if they didn't, they could always steal it from someone else like they usually did.

To his surprise, his escorts didn't take him to the wall with the manacles; instead they led him to the center of the room and left him standing on a drain in the floor. He looked around in puzzlement, until he heard the sound of rattling chains overhead. The approaching chain was looped around a beam in the ceiling and had a pair of iron manacles attached to one end. Jack tried putting up a fight to avoid what he knew was coming, but the scuffle didn't last long. Not with the number of guards to ensure his cooperation.

Continuing to maintain their silence, his captors efficiently subdued him and fastened the shackles over his wrists before releasing his arms. Then, the chain was hoisted back up over the ceiling beam with the end result of leaving Jack dangling and twisting in the air. With some effort, he was able to touch the floor with the tips of his toes, but he knew that this wouldn't help him when things got tough.

Already, his shoulders were aching in their sockets, and he was finding it hard to take in adequate gulps of air due to the position of his raised arms. Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps behind him, he quieted himself and did his best to stop his body from moving. When he heard a chuckle behind him, he was able to put a name with the footsteps. On really bad nights, he still heard that evil sound in his nightmares. As usual, he took the offensive, leading with his sarcastic wit.

"Send in the clone. Don't bother, he's here," he sang in a discordant voice. "So tell me, how does it feel to know that you're a bad copy of the original, Hair Ba'al?"

"Silence, foolish Tau'ri! Jaffa, kree! Restrain him!" the angry Goa'uld demanded. "However, you must not harm him. That privilege is mine alone."

Several of the Jaffa already in the room hastened to do his biding. The end result was that Jack's feet were placed in shackles that were attached to a bolt in the floor beside the drain. In addition, a Jaffa on either side of him effectively prevented him striking out at anyone.

Ba'al took his time, circling his victim, reaching out to gently push and prod his body. First on the back, and then his arms and sides.

"What's the matter, Meat Ba'al? Don't cha like being called a clone? As in second-best, a bad copy, and test-tube Snakey-poo." Jack quipped with a smirk. Ba'al ignored the taunt and continued his circuit around the dangling Jack, pausing only to stroke him lightly with his fingertips in passing.

When he saw that his slightest touch sent ripples of revulsion through Jack's body, he ceased his teasing caresses and stood facing his captive. As quickly as a striking cobra, he gripped Jack's chin with in fingers like iron to ensure he had this prey's full attention. Jack tried head-butting him, but Ba'al's grip was too strong for him to even jerk away from his grasp. The Goa'uld chuckled again at the look of murderous fury mirrored in his victim's dark eyes.

"Ever…heard…of breath…mints?" Jack spat out between his clenched teeth.

"I find your pitiful attempts to insult me quite amusing, Tau'ri. However, they will not distract me from my self-appointed task," he warned menacingly.

Then, he released his hold on him and slowly turned away, walking back to sit upon his throne. Without being told, the Jaffa holding Jack turned him so he was facing toward their god. Now that he could get a good look at him, Jack noted that the Snake in Tau'ri clothing had at least changed out of the BDU's and into the typical over-the-top de rigueur clothing for Snakeheads. In other words, lots of gold brocade and black silk, and over the knee boots.

"It is good to see you here once again, Jack O'Neill with two L's. I have waited much too long to exact my revenge upon you," purred the Goa'uld dangerously as he picked up a stiletto and delicately cleaned under one of his fingernails.

"Ah, well, you know how it is, Scum Ba'al. There's always something to keep me busy these days. Paperwork to do, Snakes to kill, requisition forms to fill out," he replied carelessly as he tried unsuccessfully to ease the ache in his shoulders.

"Even an ignoramus like you should've figured out that I won't tell you squat by now, Rubber Ba'al. So, why don't you just let me bounce on out of here? And I'll forget this ever happened."

Jack added a tight smile, without much hope that his words would have any effect. His High Snakiness responded by chuckling evilly once again. Lazily, he cocked his head and smiled before answering him.

"I have invested much time and effort in your capture, O'Neill. Why would I do such a thing, I ask you?"

"Because you're such a nice guy at heart?" countered Jack as he continued the verbal fencing.

"I have no wish for anything you can tell me, O'Neill. That is not the reason why you are here." At Jack's skeptical look, he continued. "It is true that I have been unable to obtain what I wished to know in the past. So, I will not waste my time with such useless pursuits."

"So, what's the point of all this crap?"

"I wish you to suffer, O'Neill. At long last, I have the opportunity to kill you slowly, over and over again...until you beg your god for mercy. That is the point, Jack O'Neill."

"Hey, I don't do the begging bit. You should know that by now, you little Shit Ba'al," replied Jack darkly.

"Oh, but you will, my foolish pet. I guarantee that you will bow before your god and beg me to show you mercy. For you are all alone here, with no hope of rescue. Your meddling Asgard friends cannot find you here, Tau'ri. The minerals of this cave prevent it and the location of this Outpost is unknown to anyone. I made my preparations for your coming quite carefully and intend that you never leave here. You are mine to treat howsoever I wish. My wish is your suffering and humiliation, O'Neill." He smiled, and laid the slim stiletto down on the wide arm of this throne.

"Bite me," retorted O'Neill defiantly.

"Ah, but I have told you before, my imprudent Tau'ri. My methods are not quite so primitive as you imply. But, enough talk for now. I believe my first tool shall be…" he smiled, laid the knife down, and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"How's about the comfy chair?" suggested O'Neill helpfully. The Goa'uld ignored his comment and turned to gaze around the room. Then his face lit up

"I believe the pain stick would be a most effective start for your lesson in pain and degradation, Tau'ri." He snapped his fingers impatiently.

"And to think that I thought you might just have an original thought in your head. But, nooo. Ya just had to go with the cliché. Didn't ya?" taunted Jack.

"Jaffa, kree! Bring it to me," the Goa'uld ordered imperiously. One of the guards stationed throughout the room, walked quickly over to the wall, took down the desired implement, and brought it to his Master.

"As you ordered, my Lord," he said as he bowed reverently before his god and offered him the three-pronged instrument of torture.

Jack watched the unfolding scene with mounting disquiet. Based on his previous experiences with the pain stick, he knew he was in for a rough time. If this was only the beginning… 'Dammit, Thor! Now would so be a good time to beam my sorry ass out of here!' he thought desperately. When the hoped for rescue did not materialize, he muttered to himself.

"Those flat-assed, know-it-all, little gray aliens are never around when you need them."

In the meantime, Ba'al had risen from his throne and was holding the pain stick in both hands. He looked at it lovingly and stroked its long length much the same way as a violinist would caress a Stradivarius. He heard O'Neill's muttered deprecations, which caused him to chuckle once more as he approached his victim. In the meantime, the guards moved away from Jack, which left him dangling alone, watching warily as the Goa'uld approached him.

"Nor shall they be, Jack O'Neill with two L's. You are my pupil and I am your teacher. Behold your first lesson," he stated as he suddenly jabbed the pain into Jack's abdomen.

The effects were immediate as his body convulsed with pain and streams of incandescent fire escaped from his open mouth and eyes. His scream joined the fire until Ba'al moved the pain stick away from his body. Once again, he raised it in his hands, hefting its iron weight in both hands. Jack now hung limply from the chains around his wrists, and his harsh breathing echoed off the walls of the chamber.

"Crap, I hate those things," he panted.

"Good," purred the Goa'uld with an evil smile. He circled his prey, evaluating, and calculating.

Jack tried, without success to crane his head around to follow his progress. Eventually, he had to give it up so he could concentrate on getting his breath back. For now, the burn on his stomach only ached. However, he knew from grim experience that the ache would grow into a burning pain that would have him gritting his teeth in agony. Second-degree burns were like that. Go figure.

Without warning, the stick was shoved into the small of his back, producing a similar reaction. Jack's body automatically strained to jerk away from such a painful stimulus, but the shackles on his ankles and wrists prevented such a maneuver. Ba'al seemed to take great pleasure in digging the triple-pronged tip of the pain stick into the muscles above Jack's kidneys.

For Jack, the agony of the electrical impulses steaming through his body and exiting through his eyes and mouth seemed to go on forever. When it finally ended, he could do no more than hang limply from his manacles with his head upon his chest. Trying to ignore the smell of charred cloth and flesh, a low moan issued from his lips. His harsh and labored breathing was the only sound in the room…until the stick was once again applied to another spot on his back. Then, his screams seemed to go on and on.

Thor, the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet, sat in his command chair on board 'The O'Neill II' contemplating the latest news he'd received from the ships blockading the planet Hala. According to the reports, the Replicators had discovered a way out of the space-time bubble erected to prevent them from overrunning the rest of the known galaxy.

Thus far, the vessels guarding against such incursions had been successful in repulsing all attempts at escape. However, he feared that it was only a matter of time before they were once again ravaging their galaxy, destroying and assimilating all in their path. Perhaps, he should call upon the Tau'ri for assistance in this matter, he mused. His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Eir, the foremost Asgard expert on alien customs and physiology. He looked worried, which caught Thor's immediate attention.

"Othalla, we have a problem," announced Eir, or Ernie, as he preferred to be called. Ever since O'Neill had called him by that name, he had proudly adopted it as his own.

"The O'Neill-o-meter says that the shit has hit the fan for Jack O'Neill," he announced solemnly.

"Eir, would you define the meaning of the term O'Neill-o-meter?" ordered Thor sternly.

"When first told of the device which tracks and monitors his well-being and location, Jack O'Neill insisted on examining it. He himself christened it as the O'Neill-o-meter," explained Ernie helpfully.

"Of course, I should have guessed," sighed Thor. "Please explain your concerns."

"A short time ago, the monitor showed that Jack O'Neill experienced an extreme electrical shock, similar to the discharge of a zat gun. This was followed almost immediately by yet another electrical shock, and then all life signs ceased, leading me to believe that he is tango uniform. Despite my best efforts, I have been unable to reestablish contact with Jack O'Neill, and believe he is dead or in extreme danger. We must investigate this matter at once, Thor!" By now, Ernie was showing his extreme agitation by bouncing in place.

"Where was his last known location, Eir?"

"His last known position was at Stargate Command."

"You are correct, Eir. We must investigate this matter, as O'Neill is of great importance, not only his own people, but to ours as well," assured Thor. "I will conclude my business in this sector and proceed immediately to the Tau'ri home world. In the meantime, I believe it would be beneficial to establish communication with Stargate Command. Perhaps they could enlighten us as to the nature of this emergency."

Thor moved several shells on the arms of his command chair, spoke rapidly to the High Council informing them of the latest developments, and assured them that he intended to investigate the matter immediately. That done, he sighed and settled himself more deeply into his chair. The lack of communication with Jack O'Neill was unsettling to say the least. Moving another shell on his command chair activated the holographic communication link with the SGC. He knew he had been successful in establishing it when he could make out the images of several familiar faces sitting around the table in the SGC Briefing Room. Major Samantha Carter was the first one to recover from their surprise.

"Thor, we've been trying to contact you. General O'Neill is in trouble," stated Carter.

"Yes, our monitors lost contact with O'Neill a short time ago. Despite out best efforts, we have been unable ascertain the cause of his disappearance," admitted the Asgard as his holographic image flickered before the SGC personnel.

"According to our security records, General O'Neill was overpowered by one of our own personnel while in the Infirmary. He escaped with the General through our Stargate after zatting the Gate Tech on duty," summarized Carter. "We were hoping that you could tell us where he'd been taken."

"I cannot. Our own records show that O'Neill experienced two electrical shocks in quick succession. This leads me to believe that his abductor used a zat'ni'ktel to subdue him. Because we lost all contact with him, we believe the second discharge resulted in his death."

The little alien watched the interaction between those seated at the table as they exchanged glances and reacted to his news. The one they called Teal'c reminded him of a predator who was looking for his next victim, dangerous, lethal, and coiled, ready to strike. Daniel Jackson appeared puzzled as well as worried, and was hugging his arms over his chest. Major Carter looked troubled and was obviously struggling to keep her composure. Also present were others with whom he was not yet acquainted. A small matter he hoped to soon rectify.

"Jack must be alive then. I mean, think about it guys. If the abductor really wanted Jack dead, then why bother taking his body with him?" argued Daniel defiantly. "From what Thor tells us, he was already dead when they went through the wormhole. Why go to all that extra trouble if all you wanted was to kill someone…unless you had the means to revive him?" he added as he scrunched up his face and pushed up his glasses nervously.

"I believe Daniel Jackson is correct," agreed Teal'c.

"Have you been able to deduce the identity of O'Neill's abductor?" asked Thor.

"By studying our records, and interviewing the personnel involved, we've been able to verify that it was Colonel Dixon who attacked the General while in the Infirmary. He also assaulted our new CMO, Dr. Smith, and a Gate Tech, both of whom are now recovering from their ordeals. You will remember that it was Colonel Dave Dixon and his SG team who were captured by Ba'al's Jaffa. When rescued, the Colonel claimed that he'd killed Ba'al himself while being tortured. I guess now we know that report was false. Evidently, the Colonel was snaked by Ba'al in the hopes that we would bring him back here to the SGC. Thor, we did exactly what he hoped we'd do and fell right into his trap," stated Carter in a tone filled with self-recrimination.

"Indeed, Major Carter. However, you must cease your self-blame, as we are facing an extremely cunning adversary," commented Teal'c.

"I don't get it. I thought that everyone had been examined for the presence of a Goa'uld and cleared. How did this get past us?" asked Daniel with a frown.

"When they were rescued, my father said he couldn't detect the presence of a Goa'uld in any of the men. Teal'c and I both examined all four members of SG-13 when they came back through the Gate. We didn't detect anything either. If Ba'al had taken Colonel Dixon as a host, we should've been able to sense him, unless…" mused Major Carter.

"Unless what?" urged Daniel.

"When we returned to Kelowana with Jonas Quinn a couple of months ago, we ran into a woman who was one of Ba'al's spies. Both Teal'c and I had been around her all the time, and we weren't able to detect that she was a Goa'uld. She said she was taking some sort of injection that covered up the presence of naquada in her bloodstream, which allowed her to remain undetected. It only follows that Ba'al must have done the same thing when he took Colonel Dixon as a host," she explained thoughtfully.

"And Colonel Dixon was the only one who hadn't had the MRI yet. Dr. Smith said she was planning to do it after his breathing improved. That's probably why he had blood in his mouth too," added Daniel.

"Thor, how much longer before you arrive in Earth's orbit?" asked Colonel Ferretti.

"Even now, my vessel is entering your solar system," assured Thor.

"We'd like you to join us as soon as you can, Thor. We've got to hammer out some kind of rescue plan for the General and Dixon," explained Ferretti. Thor looked as all the other Tau'ri head nodded in agreement.

"By then, maybe we'll have word back from our allies, the Tok'ra and the Free Jaffa," explained Carter.

"Yes, I shall rejoin you shortly," assured the little alien just before his holographic image winked out.

When he beamed back down to the Briefing Room thirty minutes later, he saw that the number of people sitting around the table had increased. A grizzled old Jaffa wearing the golden tattoo of Apophis was sitting next to Teal'c, and he could detect an air of excitement and anticipation in the room. Major Carter made the introductions.

"Thor, this is Colonel Ferretti, Colonel Reynolds, and Master Bra'tac, head of the Free Jaffa. Bra'tac just arrived through the Stargate and says he has news for us."

"Yes. I received a communication from a Free Jaffa in the ranks of Ba'al's army. He reported that the Tau'ri O'Neill is a prisoner there and gave us the coordinates of the Outpost," he said gravely. "Need I remind you that this Jaffa put his own life in considerable jeopardy to send us this information?"

"Did he say anything more about Jack's condition? And what about Colonel Dixon? Is Ba'al still using him as a host or has he snaked Jack again?" asked Daniel in a worried tone.

"His report, of necessity was brief. However, he said that Ba'al had taken a new Tau'ri host and was holding O'Neill prisoner in a subterranean chamber," the Jaffa Master said with a grimace. "His Jaffa Army remains weak and small in number. He could be easily defeated using stealth and strategy."

"Show me the location of this Outpost, Master Bra'tac," requested Thor. The Jaffa Master complied and passed a sheaf of papers to the Asgard alien who quickly reviewed its contents.

"I am familiar with this system and believe it was once one of Ba'al's minor holdings," commented Thor. "The fact that O'Neill is being held underground explains why we have been unable to ascertain his new location. The minerals in the soil act as a natural shield and prevent our tracking devices from penetrating it. This also precludes any use of our transporter beam on anything beneath the planet's surface."

"Well, what are we waiting for, guys? Let's go bring them home," urged Daniel.

"You move too quickly, young pup," remonstrated Bra'tac. "Only a fool Ha'shak would rush into battle with no prior planning. First, we determine Ba'al's weakness, then we attack."

When Jack opened his eyes again, it was to see the unwelcome white-lit walls of the sarcophagus…again. He guessed that Ba'al's goons must've dumped him in it after his session with the pain stick. Right now, though, he was enjoying the fact that it didn't hurt to breathe and that he was lying down because hanging from the rafters like that played hell on his shoulders. His body still felt weak and his mind felt fuzzy, as he couldn't quite hang on to a coherent thought. Part of him knew that this was a side effect of being revived from the dead. Yep, same old, same old.

His thoughts were interrupted by the scraping sound of the leaves above his head separating as the lid opened. An unrecognizable head popped into view, and then there were arms reaching into the box, dragging him out of it to face a very sucky reality once again. Still feeling dizzy, he let his guards support his weight as they hustled him out of the room and down the hall.

Dropping his head down, he noted absently that his black Air Force issue t-shirt had several large burn holes in it, and his pants were stained with streaks of rusty brown dried blood. A mental picture of the form labeled 'Destruction of government property' filled his mind. Damn, the paperwork involved to get another set of BDU's was horrendous. Suddenly, he had the brief image of an exasperated supply clerk complaining about his all too frequent requisitions to replace property that was lost or damaged beyond repair.

Instead of taking him back to his cell to wait upon Cheese Ba'al's pleasure, he was taken immediately to the room with the Marquis de Sade decor. He turned his head to avoid seeing the stains that decorated the floor around the drain. No need to be reminded of that crap. As if he could forget. 'Yeah, that'll happen when pigs fly, Daniel turns down a chance to mess with rocks, and Carter forgets how to spell naquada generator,' he thought.

"Aw for crying out loud, not this room again. I distinctly told you that I wanted another room this time," he groused. As was the norm with this bunch, they totally ignored him. "My, but you're a chatty bunch today." Still nothing. Crap.

"I know what. Ya wanna play charades? You don't have to talk for that. I'll even let you go first." His guards responded by gripping his arms more firmly and glaring at him.

"I know that one. You're saying that you want me to shut up. Is that it?" When they didn't answer him, he sighed dramatically. "OK. Shutting up. I can take a hint."

He was now able to think a bit more clearly, and admitted he missed his team and his friends. If he really wanted to be honest with himself, he recognized he was worried about his current situation. Things were not looking good for Mamma O'Neill's son right now. In fact, it could be described as a real fiasco, up shit creek without a scoop, going to hell in a hand basket, getting a visit from the 'oh shit' fairy…' He mentally kept himself distracted as he was dragged farther into the room as he listed all the colorful human metaphors that described his position. 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire, going from bad to worse…'

This time, they escorted him to an empty area just to the left of Ba'al's throne. When they let go of his arms and then stepped carefully back, he looked around in questioning surprise. The spot immediately around him seemed bare, just a bare stone floor with some small regularly-spaced holes…

"Crap!" he muttered as he attempted to step forward. He was too late though, as the Jaffa in front of him had already touched a wrist control. Immediately, small bluish shafts of light speared upwards to end at the ceiling, forming a small square box about three feet wide on each side. Tentatively touching a finger to the wall of shimmering energy that formed the walls of his newest cage, he winced and jumped when he received a warning shock.

"Ow!" He yelled as he shook the offended hand. An all-too-familiar chuckle behind him caught his immediate attention. Swiveling, careful to avoid contact with the force field, he caught sight of his captor lounging indulgently on his throne holding a golden goblet in his hands.

"See something funny, do ya?" he growled.

"I see that you have not yet been broken, Tau'ri. Yes, I am looking forward to the pleasure that breaking your spirit will give me," he said with a smile.

"Yeah? Well, the pleasure is all yours, I'm sure," Jack replied sarcastically.

Delicately, the Goa'uld raised the cup to his lips, drinking deeply, taking time to savor the full flavor. When he lowered the cup, a small drop of blood red liquid remained on his lips He smiled once again to O'Neill, and then deliberately licked his lips, capturing the errant drop with his tongue, and smacked them in satisfaction.

"Wine?" The Goa'uld asked. Jack wet his dry lips nervously. True, his throat felt parched and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to drink.

"Not thirsty, but thanks anyway. Coming back from the dead kind of puts me off my feed. Ya know?" he said carelessly. Ba'al responded by smiling evilly at his prisoner.

"By the way, Hair Ba'al, I don't suppose you could help me fill out the requisition forms for my new uniform. Especially, seeing as how it was you that put the holes in it in the first place. Deliberate Destruction of Government Property is a felony offense, ya know. The paperwork is a real bitch and it could get you some time in the cooler."

"I have indeed chosen my subject well," Ba'al continued dangerously. "Our time together shall be most entertaining and instructive."

"Yeah, well if it's all the same to you, your idea of entertainment sucks, big time. I wouldn't mind a cold beer though. Got any of those?" Jack replied mockingly. "Nope? Didn't think so. But then, your taste in just about everything sucks the big one."

"Your feeble attempts to hide the true nature of your feelings continue to amuse me, Jack O'Neill. However, in the end, you will bow to me and call me your Master. I have both the time and the means to teach you the true meaning of pain and humiliation. However, your first lesson will be that I control everything that will happen to you. How do you like your new living quarters, Tau'ri?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's a little cramped, but a little paint, curtains on the windows, knock out a wall or two, and it'll be fine," Jack commented carelessly, continuing his act of nonchalance. Although he realized that Ba'al knew what he was doing, he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing his facade crumble.

"The only reason you will leave this room, my impudent Tau'ri, is because of your death. Whereupon I will revive you once more in the sarcophagus, so that you may return to resume your lessons with me. When I am absent, you shall remain here, with only the walls of this chamber and my instructional instruments as a reminder of lessons to come. But all this talk wearies me; I must retire to my chambers. How do you say it? Good night, O'Neill. Do not let the bed bugs bite," he said casually as he arose from his throne and stepped off the dais.

"Hey, knock yourself out, Nut Ba'al," Jack countered carelessly, as he squatted down within his enclosure, taking care not to brush the sides accidentally. "I've got a gazillion and one things on my to do list. You know, kick your ass, stomp you into the ground. Kick your Mamma's ass. No wait, I forgot! You're a clone. Aren't you? You're a carbon copy Snake."

By this time, he'd turned his back to his captor, but continued to listen as the echo of Ba'al's footsteps left the room. The fact that he'd heard the Snake's brief growl of suppressed rage as he left the room gave him a whole honkin' shitload of satisfaction. The happy glow didn't last long, however. Just one glance around his tight quarters was all he needed to remind him that he had plenty of reasons not to be a happy camper.

"Crap," he muttered as he settled himself in for what was obviously going to be a long, uncomfortable night. Resting his head on his knees, he attempted to quiet his racing thoughts long enough so he could drift off into much needed sleep. It was hard to do though. As was typical for his nature, his mind was racing through possible escape scenarios. However, he was forced to discard all but one of them.

"Plan S for survive," he coaxed himself. "Just hang on long enough so you can snap that Snake's spine with your own two hands, Jack. That's all you have to do. Piece of cake. Right?"

He must've drifted off at some point because he awoke when he felt a tickling sensation on his ankle. Raising his head irritably and reaching down to scratch it, he was surprised when he felt the same tickle on his other foot, and leg.

"What the hell?" he muttered, as he tried shaking his foot to stop it. Instead, he felt several distinct pricks upon the skin of his feet and legs. Growing more alarmed, he jumped to his feet in order to have a better look around him. What he saw, made him start stomping the floor and brushing off his legs. The floor was swarming with small ant-like creatures that evidently had their homes within the floor of the cave.

"Crap, Hair Ba'al would have to remember my insane aversion to bugs," he half muttered to himself as he continued his horrific version of the Mexican hat dance in an effort to rid himself of his 'bed bugs'. "That no-good pompous snaky-assed god wannabe is so going down for this!"

When Ba'al and his Jaffa made his appearance several hours later, it was quite evident that Jack was standing on his feet only through sheer force of will. He stood with his feet splayed out at shoulder width in order to better maintain his balance. His face, arms, and feet were covered in large red welts, which seemed to be causing him extreme discomfort. In fact, he'd shed his pants, and was standing on them in an apparent effort to avoid further attacks from the miniature insects. As a result, he was clad only in his boxers and holey black t-shirt. One eye was already swelling shut, and he looked like he could collapse at any second. The sounds of his breaths rasping in and out echoed off the chamber walls.

Clearly, he had not had a restful night. He didn't even bother turning around to watch his captor as he approached. However, once the Goa'uld had come within his line of sight, he gave him one of his best patented 'I am so going to kick your ass' glares. The only effect it seemed to have on the Snake was to make him laugh.

"I trust that you were able to rest during my absence, Tau'ri," he purred as he stroked the beginnings of a goatee.

"My night was just peachy, Pin Ba'al. But you really need to see about improving the room service in this joint. My bed linens weren't changed and you've got a really bad bug problem," he rasped sarcastically.

"Yes, I'll admit that those creatures have presented my slaves with a bit of a problem," continued Ba'al carelessly. "I became aware of them as a result of my former slave priest, Tu'at. He was helpful in demonstrating the effect of their bite upon the human body. He also gave them the name of Mai'tac," he murmured, seeming to enjoy the way his deep voice echoed off the cave walls.

"You call them Mai'tac? Doesn't that mean...damn?"

"Very good, O'Neill. Once again you have proven the worthiness of my current pupil. I find the name strangely appropriate. Especially, since that is what he was screaming as he was finally overcome by their poisonous bites. They are much like the fire ants you have on the Tau'ri home world. I have used several slaves in an experiment to determine how long their venom takes to kill the Tau'ri. Its effects are most interesting. Do you not agree?"

"Well, I'm afraid my opinion might be a bit biased right now, so if you don't mind, I'll pass on the bug lecture," the captive retorted wearily as he continued to pant for breath. Turning away from the prisoner, Ba'al skirted the shimmering force field and ascended to sit upon his throne once again.

"Jaffa, kree!" he commanded. Immediately, his First Prime approached the dais and knelt with his head bowed before his god.

"Release the force field and bring the Tau'ri to me." Saluting his Master with a clenched fist across his chest, he bowed once again before replying. He knew better than to raise his eyes to look upon his god's face without permission. The last man to do this had become the unwilling participant in one of his god's experiments. The fool had been staked out on the floor of this very chamber and left to the mercy of the Mai'tac.

"Yes, my Lord," he replied reverently.

Then he got to his feet and motioned for two other Jaffa to accompany him to the force field. With a touch to the controls on his wrist, it flickered off, leaving the sight of a barely conscious prisoner who swayed precariously on his feet. The two Jaffa automatically grabbed an arm each and half dragged the man towards their waiting god. By now, Jack's breath made a whistling sound as he struggled to get enough air into his lungs. It didn't take them long to haul him over the rough floor to stand in front of the throne.

"Jaffa, release him," the Goa'uld commanded with a sneer. His guards immediately let go of his arms, bowed to their god, and stepped back away from their charge.

"Once the venom of the Mai'tac is absorbed into the bloodstream of their victim, it produces swelling in the throat, O'Neill. This is a symptom of which you have already become aware. The victim eventually dies as a result of strangulation when the air passages in the neck are completely swollen shut. However, my imprudent student, this process takes several hours to complete. During this time, you will be allowed to meditate on the wisdom of my teachings," advised Ba'al with an evil smile.

"Ain't…gonna…happen," the man gasped, as he struggled to keep his eyes fixed on those of his captor. In answer, Ba'al raised his right arm, which was encircled with a ribbon device.

"No matter, I shall merely…intensify your learning experience, O'Neill," he replied as he raised the activated ribbon device and directed its golden beam toward the middle of his forehead. Jack let out a groan and sank to his knees, his head and eyes riveted toward the destructive beam.

"Dixon," Jack gasped. "Fight this." When the force of the beam flickered, the enraged Goa'uld's eyes flashed white. His arm steadied once more, and he increased the force of the energy emanating from the jewel in the palm of his hand.

"Silence, Tau'ri," Ba'al growled. "Nothing of the host survives." Jack sank down further onto the floor, and moaned once again.

"Dixon," he whispered again. When he heard an answering murmur inside his head, his eyes widened.

"I'm trying to fight him, Sir," whispered Colonel Dave Dixon. "But he's too strong. I'm so sorry for all this, Sir."

"Not your fault," Jack murmured out loud from his position on the floor.

"My team?"

"They're…OK," Jack whispered.

"Tell my wife and kids that I love them, Jack. Please?"

"No…you do it," he panted.

"No, Jack. I can't leave, but I'll find a way to get you out of here. I promise," Dixon's words echoed inside Jack's head again.

"Nobody…gets left…behind," Jack objected softly.

"But you are wrong, my foolish pet. Your so-called Asgard vermin friends left you behind. And you will never leave here. I thought you understood that," sneered Ba'al as he stepped off the dais to leave the hand bearing the ribbon device mere inches from its victim's forehead.

"Doc's here and has been helping me out. Just hang in there, Sir," urged Dixon's voice as it echoed inside Jack's increasingly befuddled mind.

"Doc?" Jack whispered.

"Your words mean nothing," Ba'al commented dispassionately. "The venom has reached your brain and is causing your mind to fail."

Jack could see nothing now but the golden light coming from the ribbon device. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe, and the air made a whistling sound as it passed through his swollen airway. Then the burning pressure of the ribbon device disappeared, leaving Jack lying sprawled face-up on the floor. His vision was getting gray and splotchy around the edges. Then, he saw the face of Ba'al bending over him and felt him caressing his cheek. Although he desperately wanted to, he didn't even have the energy to jerk his head away from his touch, concentrating instead on drawing yet another breath into his starving lungs.

"You are ready for the sarcophagus, my impudent student," he said lovingly as he continued to stroke the side of Jack's face. "When you return, we shall begin your lessons once more."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise as a blinding white light replaced the encroaching darkness.

"Charlie?"

"Have I not explained it to you before? There is no need to pursue those we seek. They shall come to us and our brethren. Of this I am certain, for I have explored the pathways of his mind, and seen the chaos and pain within. He will be summoned. You must learn patience."

The End. To Be Continued in Part IV


End file.
